


SAM

by FujinoLover



Series: We're Perfect for Each Other (You're Gonna Figure That Out Someday) [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU that's not really AU, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bullying, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6406336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujinoLover/pseuds/FujinoLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a valid, universe-related, The Machine-approved reason for Root to be so sure that they were perfect for each other. It just took Shaw longer to figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SAM

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxIzabela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxIzabela/gifts).



> _Aziz-am_ : “my dear”.
> 
>  _Nāzanin_ : “sweet” or “dear”.
> 
>  _Hamsar-am_ : literally means “my equal head”; “my equal partner”; a poetic way to point out one’s better half.

Sameen was almost four when the ink showed up on her right inner forearm. It itched. She was confused to see the letters. It wasn’t there before she took a nap. Curious and a little bit scared, she shoved her arm in front of her mother to see. The older woman thought Sameen did it and cooed praises at her for writing her own name without mistake.

“No!” Sameen huffed, stomping her foot. “I don’t!”

She stormed off to their small bathroom. When her mother got there seconds later, she saw her standing on her blue stool in front of the sink. Sameen scrubbed the whole length of her arm with soap and rinse it with water from the tap. She frowned when the scribble was still there after she dried it off. The skin on her arm had turned pink, but the word wouldn’t come off no matter how hard she rubbed it.

“I don’t like it!”

“Oh, _aziz-am_...” Her mother realized what she was trying to do and held her hand before she could hurt herself more. “I have one too, remember?” She tapped at her shoulder to make her point. “Daddy’s name is on me. My name is on daddy’s tummy. It’s because we’re each other’s soulmate.”

Sameen nodded, but her frown didn’t lessen. “Mine's my name.”

Her mother chuckled. Sameen was quite smart for a preschooler. They had shown her her name, how to write and say it out loud. Of course she recognized the letters that made up her own name and the first three of it was on her arm.

“It just means that your soulmate has the same nickname as you.”

“Sam?”

Her eyes widened with wonder. Then she frowned as she remembered that Sam was one of her soccer playmates. She didn’t like him because he teased her for her look and skin color and slight accent. She told her mother so. The older woman laughed, kissing the top of her head.

“There are a lot of people named Sam, _nāzanin_. I’m sure it’s not Samuel. His mother told me he has troubles with letters.” And apparent racism, but she didn’t say it aloud. “Your Sam seems like he’s older than you…or a genius.”

Sameen nodded. Her attention was back on the word on her arm. It became her favorite, if it wasn’t already, and the first she learned to write by copying.

 

* * *

 

Samantha had just turned six when the name appeared on the back of her neck. She thought it was a bug bite at first. After a lot of twisting and squinting at the mirror in the bathroom, she read the word and her excitement was short-lived. It was almost illegible, but similar to her handwriting style and it had only been a week since she was able to write down her own name. Every few seconds, she checked to see if it changed—willing hard for it to change—but it remained the same. She straightened her collar and let her hair down to cover it for the rest of the day, praying that no one in school would notice it.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?” Her mother had her back on her, hunching over the stove to stir the pasta in the pot. She already had her cashier uniform on. “What is it, Sam?”

“Do you think the soulmate thing is real?”

Samantha saw the smile on her mother’s face as she moved to put the pasta on the strainer. Dinner was mac and cheese, as it was yesterday and the day before and two days ago. Her mother had to take another job, on top of the two she had, and it required her to work at night. At first, it was scary to be left alone, but Samantha got used to it and promised that she would never tell anyone about it. Life wasn’t going so well for them and she didn’t want to burden her mother with unnecessary things, but she was curious.

“Why did you ask, sweetie?”

“I had my mark…I think.”

“You think?” her mother asked as she set a plate in front of Samantha. “Where is it? May I see it?”

Samantha nodded. She gathered her hair in one hand, some blonde strands escaped from the sides. She turned around and tucked her chin down so her mother could observe the word on the base of her skull. The older woman had difficulty discerning the letters although there were only three of them.

“Sam?” Her mother traced the tattoo, humming in approval. She didn’t seem to be confused in the slightest. “You’re lucky, sweetie.” When Samantha turned around to stare at her with questioning gaze, she bopped her nose with a finger. “I never have the chance to know mine. I guess he died before I even learned to read. So you, young lady—” she bopped her nose again, watching it scrunched up in response “—is lucky.”

“But I don’t understand?”

“Same nickname, very rare but it happens to some couples.” Her mother smiled and winked at her. “Judging from the messy handwriting, he must be a very cute boy.”

Samantha didn’t know why or how, but she was pretty sure her Sam was a girl. She didn’t say so to her mother, though. She didn’t tell anyone about her tattoo either.

 

* * *

 

After the accident that took her father’s life, Sameen had her tattoo scratched out. Once she comprehended what the mark meant, she was a bit affronted with the fact that she even had one in the first place. Soulmate was just a shitty way of the universe to play matchmaker. Hers didn’t even make sense, so she didn’t feel bad for getting rid of it. Her mother scolded her when she found her bloody arm, the skin torn and the tattoo struckthrough.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Sameen said.

She didn’t get sad, or happy, or lonely. But she did care about her parents. She knew her mother cried at night when she thought she was sleeping and in front of the mirror after every shower, clutching at her shoulder where the tattoo of her father’s name had faded when he died.

“I don’t have mine now too,” she said again.

Her mother looked up from the gauze she was putting around Sameen’s arm, dark brown eyes shined with unshed tears. She chuckled, the sound too wet to be pure amusement. Not only she had lost her husband, but people thought that there was something wrong with her daughter too. The first responders reported that Sameen had been aloof throughout the aftermath, even asked for a sandwich while they worked to pry her father’s body from the car wreckage. The grief counselor had stated pretty much the same. Thus not long after, Sameen was required to see a psychiatrist. It only got harder when he confirmed the early signs of her disorder.

Her mother pulled Sameen into a hug. “Thank you.” Drops of hot tears fell on her head. She didn’t hug her back, but gripped at her side. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. I always have you and there’s nothing wrong with you, _aziz-am_. You’re okay.”

"I'm okay."

Though Sameen didn’t understand what her mother was trying to say, she always believed in her.

 

* * *

 

It happened in eighth grade. Samantha had stood in the shadows most of the time. Not many people liked her since she skipped a couple of years (she attributed it to the huge amount of time she spent reading in the library while her mother worked on night shift). One day everyone was picking on Tommy for having ‘dick’ tattooed on his butt cheek, taunting him for being gay as usual, and the next day everyone was all over her. She changed from the nerd who didn’t have father to the freak who was her own soulmate, just because someone had noticed her mark when she kept her hair up on a particular hot day. Her straight A's notwithstanding the bullying.

She paid no heed to the verbal abuse until it became physical. A group of girls cornered her on her locker. In spite of the crowded hallway, no one glanced twice at the huddling. She stood her ground, but puberty hadn’t hit her yet so she was small compared to the girls surrounding her. One of them shoved her until her back hit the metal locker. Another grabbed her hair, trying to see the tattoo on the back of her neck. She flailed around to stop her, but to no avail. Tears were prickling her eyes when she thought they had succeeded, but all of a sudden, her captor yelped in pain. The grip on Samantha’s hair loosened and a slam of something falling to the ground followed soon after.

“What the fuck, Frey!” The girl rubbed the back of her head where it had been hit as she stared down at Hanna Frey, who was picking up her book from the floor.

“Oops?” Hanna shrugged. She was more concerned with patting off the dust from her book than the group of bully. “You’re kinda in the way of my locker.”

The girls exchanged an incredulous look with each other before they dispersed. One of them muttered ‘bitch’ as they walked past Hanna but that was all. Everyone knew better than to mess with her due to her jerk of a father and uncle and her whole overprotective family in general. Once they left, she made a beeline for her locker, which was nowhere near Samantha’s.

“Thank you…for helping me.” Samantha smiled and ducked her head to hide the flush. It was the first time someone other than her mother had stood up for her and it felt strange, but nice. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s okay. They’re being a bitch for no reason,” Hanna said, closing her locker. She went to lean on one next to Samantha’s, a different book on her arm. “Sam, right? I’m Hanna. I saw you a lot in the library, wanna go there together?”

There were butterflies fluttering like wild in Samantha’s stomach as she nodded. She followed Hanna around like a puppy. She was her first friend and her first crush and might be her first love. When Hanna had gone missing (taken and killed by Trent Russell, Samantha knew) and no one believed her, she didn’t remove her tattoo like she removed her faith in humanity. If anything, it was the constant reminder that she didn’t need other people. She was her own person.

 

* * *

 

The soulmate thought didn’t come back to Root’s mind for years. Sure, there was a target named Sam she had slept with, another charming Sam who was the CEO of a software company, and the blonde NSA agent Sam she liked to flirt with. She just had a thing for Sams, but none of them happened to be her soulmate. It wasn’t until she pulled out Indigo-Five-Alpha’s file from the ISA database that she felt the forgotten tattoo warming up on her skin. She ran her fingers over it with long lost sense of familiarity as she continued reading.

 _Name:_ Redacted _, Sameen._

_Alias: Shaw, Sam._

Aside from the picture, there was also one of Shaw’s tattoo before it was removed. Like the rest of the armed forces, the Marines required the removal procedure to all soulmate marks, to avoid liability should the enemies capture their operatives. Root had a sad smile when she saw the scarred state of the mark in the picture. She didn’t think Shaw went through the same bullying as she did, but it must have annoyed her enough to scratch it out.

The file, however, didn’t prepare Root to face the real thing. She had to lean her weight on the door to keep herself upright after she opened it and there was her Sam. Tiny, angry, and owning the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. Root couldn't recall the words they had exchanged—there was “Veronica” there somewhere for sure—but Shaw was inside the room with her and the back of her neck was burning again.

“You’re Sam, right?”

Shaw didn’t answer. She took off her coat and Root sucked in a deep breath. She watched Shaw’s unchanged expression and wondered if she felt the tug in her stomach too or whether her axis II personality disorder made her incapable of feeling it too. Shaw did feel a sharp tweak in her gut when she first saw ‘Veronica’, but brushed it off as the remainder pain from the gunshot wound Wilson gave her last night.

They talked. There were many instances where Root almost revealed the true nature of their connection, but she didn’t. It took everything in her to not swoon over Shaw like a young girl in love. It took much more for her to not hurt Shaw too much when the real Veronica blew her cover. A little tasering was fun. The fall and the dragging did hurt, though.

“I read your file.” Root placed her hand on Shaw’s shoulder, a deliberate touch she couldn’t help herself from making. “And I’m kinda a big fan.” She pushed the chair back until it hit the wall. “So I really don’t want to hurt you.”

She held the hot iron near Shaw’s face. Her name was no longer on Shaw’s arm, so she had this urge to leave another mark of hers on Shaw. Perhaps not on a place so obvious like her face. A burn mark would mar her beauty, but Shaw was tempting her to.

“One of the things I left out of my file,” Shaw said. She was still trembling from being tasered, but her voice was steady and a little bit hoarse. It did wonderful things to Root’s heart. “I kinda enjoy this sort of thing.”

Root smiled. They were indeed soulmates. “I’m so glad you said that—” she tilted the iron closer, a little press of its tip on the side of Shaw’s neck wouldn’t be so bad “—I do too.” Before she had the chance, her phone beeped, alerting her of the party crasher. Too bad she had to leave. “We’ll do this again soon,” she said with a sigh.

She didn’t free Shaw from her binds, trusting her to find a way out on her own and to find her way back to her someday. It wasn’t her fault their paths kept crossing each other’s ever since. The universe had paired them up since the beginning and The Machine knew it. Who was Root to intervene when her God supported the universe in playing matchmaker?

 

* * *

 

“What did you just call her?”

Harold flinched. Being on first name basis was something that friends did. It slipped his mind sometimes, even though Root had told him to call her by the name of her choice over and over again. “I’m sorry, I mean Root.”

“No.” Shaw bent over to be on eye-level with Harold, a hand gripped his shoulder. “What did you call Root?”

“Samantha?”

“That one is her real name?”

“Yes...” Harold knitted his brows. He didn’t know where this conversation was going. “Samantha Groves.” It bewildered him even more when Shaw cussed and left in a hurry.

Shaw hadn’t bothered to look through the extensive list of names Root had used. If the woman herself wanted to be called ‘Root’, then she would do so. It was only common decency. Neither of them had talked about the soulmate tattoo either. Shaw didn’t hide hers—or what was left of hers anyway—and she never saw Root’s despite the too many sex they had. The odd knot in her gut whenever they were together, she chalked it off as the adrenaline rush that Root seemed to evoke whenever she was around. She used to think it was just Root being, well, _Root_ , with the whole _we’re perfect with each other, you’re gonna figure it out someday_ attitude. Now everything made a perfect sense.

“Sam.”

Root had just arrived and was taking off her jacket when Shaw came into the apartment. “Hey, sweetie. You’re—” She halted. What Shaw had called her just registered in her mind and the start of a smug smile formed on her lips. “You finally figure it out.”

Shaw groaned. Embarrassment tinted her cheeks in red for taking so long to understand what was in front of her all along. The tattoo had nothing to do with their relationship, at least not from her end, and she was somewhat relieved. She hadn’t thought or searched for her Sam because she believed the whole soulmate thing as bullshit, but at this rate it was inevitable.

Root found the whole ordeal as cute. Shaw’s blush was worth the wait. “I’ll show mine if you show me yours?” She was grinning so wide it almost split her face into two.

“You read my file, you know where it was,” Shaw said, rolling her eyes as she got closer to Root. “Where is yours?”

Root took a seat on the edge of their bed, her back to Shaw. She moved her hair away, exposing the black ink on her hairline—it was rare for her to keep her hair up, no wonder Shaw hadn’t noticed it being there before. Root waited for any reaction with bated breath. A small part of her had always worried of scaring Shaw off with this soulmates business and even after everything they had gone through, the possibility was still there. She sighed in relief when she felt fingers running along the letters.

The messy handwriting brought Shaw back to those mornings decades ago where she abandoned playing with her Lego to learn to write, alternating between looking at the tattoo on her arm and the shape of its letters she managed to make on the paper. A fond smile was on her lips as she leaned forward, planting a kiss on the back of Root’s neck. She liked the way Root gasped in surprise but pressed closer to her.

“ _Hamsar-am_ …” Shaw said against the warm skin.

It was how her mother had addressed her father, and so it would be how she addressed Root from now on—as her better half.


End file.
